


Unseen but not Unheard

by Romiress



Category: DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Jason POV, M/M, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, The most extremely dubious consent, Under-negotiated Kink, Unreliable Narrator, sharing is caring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 13:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Intended as a one-off spinoff fromBlurryby MissNaya. Intended, very loosely, to be set sometimes between chapters 10 and 11.





	Unseen but not Unheard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissNaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Blurry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435521) by [MissNaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya). 



 

 

Jason is no longer entirely sure what he did to end up in this position. He’s pretty sure it’s something he said. He’s pretty sure it was the  _attitude_. But that was hours ago, and the fact that the tiny bit of lip he gave Roman is enough to warrant this kind of punishment is difficult to believe. He’s sure it’s something else. Something else he said or did. Roman will probably tell him when he gets back.

That’s the problem though: The getting back. When Roman had him strip and bend over the desk, Jason thought he knew what he was getting. A good hard fuck. Maybe a few slaps to his ass. Roman probably wouldn’t get too extreme in his office (the blood would make a mess), and Jason had counted on that.

He shouldn’t have.

He’s no longer sure how long he’s been there, bound and gagged spread eagle atop Roman’s desk. He’s pretty sure it has to be hours. It was early afternoon when he went up to the office, and even through the blindfold he’s pretty sure the sun has started to sink behind the buildings. If it has, he’s been there five or six hours at least.

His legs locked up long ago. They ache. Everything aches, for that matter. Roman wasn’t kind when he sprawled him out across the desk, making him really  _stretch_  before he tied him down.

And then he’d left. Jason’s not entirely sure what he said anymore. Was it ‘be back in a few hours’? Was it ‘I’ll be back when my work is done’? He’s turned the memory in his head over so many times that it’s ceased to feel real.

He wants Roman to come back. The fact that he’s been gone so long has left Jason along with his thoughts, and he  _really_  doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t want to think about what might have happened, because then he has to acknowledge the possibility that it be more than a  _might_. Something might have actually happened. Roman doesn’t exactly live a peaceful life, and the possibility that he’s been attacked (or killed) is a real thing.

It’s a thing Jason hasn’t managed to stop thinking about for almost an hour. What would happen if Roman was hurt? What would happen if he was killed? Who would find him, naked and tied to a desk, waiting for Roman to come back?

Jason’s body betrays him. He’s not sure how, but he’s pretty sure he’s half-hard at the thought.

There's a noise behind him and Jason goes perfectly, absolutely still, straining to hear what’s happening behind him. Someone’s opened a door, he’s sure, only it sounds less like the heavy door to Roman’s office and more like the lighter door to the side room.

Which makes absolutely no sense. The side room doesn’t have anything (or anyone) in it. It doesn’t even have any windows for a break-in. The only thing that makes any sort of sense if Roman didn’t actually  _leave_ , just retired into the side room to... what, wait?

It seems completely ridiculous, but Jason’s not coming up with any better ideas. There’s no way Roman would spend hours doing nothing rather than just leaving to go to work, but the more he listens to the footsteps, the more uncertain he becomes. It certainly  _sounds_  like someone coming from the side room, pacing across the hard floor until they stop a few feet behind Jason.

Jason’s brain is violently slingshotting back and forth between  _it’s Roman playing into a fantasy_  and  _fuck fuck fuck someone else is in the room_. Neither option makes any sense. The idea that someone managed to bypass all of Romans security, slip into his office, and is using it to stand behind Jason is ridiculous, but so is the idea that Roman apparently decided a good use of his time was sitting in an almost completely empty side room for several hours.

There’s a touch of fingers on his hip. Leather. Leather like Romans. But the fingers feel different (Roman’s seem more slender), and Jason finds himself once again bouncing between options.

 _Maybe it’s not Roman_ , he thinks to himself.  _But maybe he set this up._

The idea seems plausible. It would certainly be a waste of Roman’s time to sit around for hours in a side room, but he’s not ruling out Roman making someone else do it. Making them come in before Jason showed up. Making them sit and wait. Telling them to come out hours later, and... what?

Do they even know what’s going on? Is it someone he knows, or a total stranger? He doesn’t want to think Roman’s jealousy would allow it, but the possibility makes so much more sense than any other option.

Jason shudders as the fingers drag down his hip to the curve of his ass. They’re barely doing anything, hardly even touching, but Jason can’t stop himself from whimpering into the gag.

Christ, he’s  _dying_. He’s very rapidly approaching the point where he doesn’t actually  _care_  who it is. If it’s Roman, so be it. If it’s not Roman... well, Roman has to know what’s going on, and he can’t be blamed for whatever someone does to him while tied up, right?

The hand lifts away, and Jason whimpers again. God, he’s hard. The guy--whoever the fuck it is--has barely touched him and he’s practically dripping.

Leather-clad fingers touch his neck, trailing across the back just above the collar. He can feel when they shift, and knows that they’re touching the little  _RS_  stitched there.

Jason shudders against his bonds.

Every sensation feels like it’s been cranked up to maximum. He feels like if someone so much as  _looks_  at his dick he’s going to cum. Is this what Roman was after? Just letting him sit until he’s so fucking worked up that the tiniest scraps of attention are enough to make him scream?

Jason wheezes against the gag as the fingers lift away, returning almost immediately to train down his side. He’s so fucking hard he could  _cut glass_  and if something doesn’t happen soon he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Something does happen, because the man leans against him--it’s all leather that makes Jason think of armor, but he’s got a pretty considerable weight to him that puts another check in the  _definitely not Roman_  pile--and then pulls the gag off.

Jason’s mouth feels dry. He needs water. But right now he needs something  _so_  much more than water.

“Please,” he begs. Whatever pride he has is firmly on hold. Relocated to somewhere far away. “Please fuck me before I go insane.”

This is probably the wrong answer. Probably what he’s supposed to do is ask the man to send in Roman. To deny his advances and prove to Roman that the only thing that matters is him. But Jason doesn’t have it in him. He doesn’t have that kind of self control.

The man pulls away and Jason whimpers, but he doesn’t have long to wait before cold--because holy shit is it cold--liquid is spilling down the crack of his ass. Lube. Oh thank god, because lube means he’s going to have something in him soon, and right then he’s pretty sure that’s all he wants in the world. He doesn’t even let himself think about where the lube came from (did Roman leave some out, or did they bring it with them?) before a finger pushes in.

He’s ready. God, he’s been ready for hours. He relaxes instinctively, and the man behind him makes an appreciative sound as he works his finger in and out. He doesn’t wait long--still too long in Jason’s mind--before he presses a second in, scissoring them as he works Jason.

Jason’s making a lot of noise. Roman’s probably watching--probably not from in the room, but at least through a camera--so the least he can do is give him a show, right? And since he can’t actually  _move_ , still bound to the desk, all he can do is use his voice.

“Oh god,” he says. “Fuck  _yes_.”

He’s rewarded with a third finger. He’s ready for this. He’s so fucking ready, but the man insists on working him open just the same, even with Jason desperately begging him.

“Please,” he says. “Please just fuck me. I’m ready. I can take it. Just fuck me.”

The man ignores him, pressing all three fingers in to the knuckle. He’s slow and methodical to it, and Jason tries to move as much as he can against him, trying to grind against his fingers even though he can’t even move.

The man smacks his ass in response. Not hard--it’s not even hard enough to really be called a  _spanking_ \--but Jason whimpers in response. Is he supposed to call him Daddy? No, he decides. That would be over the line. And the man behind him obviously doesn’t need it. Roman’s proabbly paying him. Or maybe he’s doing it for free.

Who knows? And more importantly: Who cares?

“ _Please_ ,” Jason begs. “I’m going to go fucking insane if you don-  _please.”_

He’s interrupted by the man withdrawing his fingers, and he lets out a long whine in response. He’s so fucking needy. How did he ever get this bad? But he  _is_  this bad. He’s dying. He needs something in him and he wants it to be a dick and he doesn’t even mind if it’s a man he doesn’t even know.

He’s a goddamn whore and he doesn’t even care.

The moment something presses up against his hole he tries to shove back, but there’s not enough movement to actually get any leverage. He’s given up on clear, coherent sentences, whimpering something that sounds a lot like  _please please please_ over and over again.

When the man starts to push in, it feels like his first drink of water after crossing a desert. It’s  _relief_. The fact that his limbs are still stretched to their limit and aching doesn’t matter. The mystery of who the fuck the man  _is_  doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is how he feels inside him, pressing in inch by inch. He’s girthier than Roman, thicker, and Jason  _keens_  as he bottoms out.

“Please please please,” Jason begs. “Please fuck me, please please.”

He doesn’t think he could stop begging if he tried. He’s not used to being half as vocal, but that’s all he  _can_  do.

The first snap of the man’s hips has him seeing stars. No, not just that - he’s  _cumming_. The man’s done one thrust and he feels so fucking close. Oh god he’s so fucking close.

“Please,” he says again. “Please just - just fuck me please please.”

He should probably be doing a better job. He should probably have more to say. But his brain’s only half working at best, and he’s rapidly devolving into a drooling mess.

He can’t even manage to hold his head up as the man starts to fuck into him. He’s not rough the way Roman is, but he’s still pretty rough, his fingers digging into Jason’s hips as he uses that for leverage.

Jason feels the man shift his hip and he sees  _stars_  as he brushes against his prostate.

Jason says  _something_ \--begging? he’s not even sure--and the man does it again. Again. And again.

Jason cums. He feels like he stops  _existing_ , the sensation too strong. The weight of the man behind him, pressing into him. The strain on his limbs. He’s cumming and it’s too  _intense_ , almost painful in its own right as he finally sags against the desk.

The man behind him’s stopped moving, and Jason feels a hand press to the flat of his back.

What’s he doing? Jason feels all foggy, but he’s pretty sure the man pulls out--his entire lower half feels too numb to be sure--and then there are a few grunts from behind him.

He thinks he feels something wet on his ass, but it’s hard to tell with all the lube. Mostly he’s just confused. He expected the man to keep going, fucking him through the over stimulation. Fucking him till it  _hurt_.

He’s even more confused when he feels the rope on his ankle go slack. He’s sure he’s rubbed them raw, and he lets out a hiss of pain as the man rubs his fingers across the injury.

No question, he has.

The man makes a quiet shushing noise and frees his other ankle. Jason doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than sit there, slack against the desk.

When the man bends over him and releases his wrist, Jason nearly falls. His legs can’t support his weight, and the only thing that stops him from dislocating his remaining wrist is that the man catches him, wrapping an arm around Jason’s waist to hold his weight as he undoes the last rope.

Jason’s not entirely sure he still has bones. He’s composed entirely of  _ache_.

The man shifts his position, pulling Jason properly into his arms, and Jason rests against him.

It doesn’t make sense, not really. This feels like  _kindness_ , and there’s no way Roman would allow it. It would ruin the dynamic they have. He knows Roman would be angry. But Roman has to be watching, right? He has to have approved. The man couldn’t be there otherwise.

When the blindfold is pulled off Jason has to squeeze his eyes shut. Even the dim light of the office is too much for him. He catches only a slight glimpse of the man before his heart freezes.

Bruce? It can’t be Bruce. But the silhouette’s similar enough. Black leather. An exposed mouth.

Jason makes a choked noise.

“Hey,” the man says, and it’s not Bruce. Bruce sounds different. Jason would know. The voice is similar, but it’s  _different_. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” Jason sags into his arms in relief. Not Bruce. Nothing like Bruce.

The man presses a kiss to his temple, and Jason makes another little choked noise. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know who the man is. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Come on,” the man says, taking Jason’s full weight in his arms. “Lets get you someplace safe.”

He starts to walk, and Jason lets himself stop caring. He just lets himself enjoy being held.


End file.
